A Fortuitous Encounter
by AubreyAndersonAuthor
Summary: A prideful Fitzwilliam Darcy seeks out a prejudiced Elizabeth Bennet during her favorite walk in the woods. His intention? To warn the object of his new found affection against the charming, yet perfidious cad, Mr. Wickham-mere days before the Netherfield Ball. Pride and Prejudice on crack! THIS IS NOT COMPLETE, ONLY THE FIRST 2 CHAPTERS! I HAVE REMOVED THE REST.
1. Chapter 1

Chapter One

 _November 21st, 1811 - early morning hours before the evening of Aunt Phillips' card party_

 _Seven days before the Netherfield Ball_

Fitzwilliam George Darcy-Master of Pemberley, Brother and Guardian of Georgiana Darcy, and closest friend of Charles Bingley-could do nothing but lay awake and shuffle inside the long-darkened guest bedroom at Netherfield Hall. A huffy sigh drew breath from his lips, and Fitzwilliam could not even find a care within himself to mutter a half-hearted reprimand. What were his complaints? Being the closest friend of Charles Bingley, let alone the highest ranking one in terms of name and fortune, meant that he had one of the finest rooms in the house-yet it was not enough.

Fitzwilliam, irritated that his mind was not listening to his body's natural rhythms, as it had since he was a mere boy of eight, before his father had sent him away to school in London, abruptly sat up, and drew a cool hand across his brow. Throwing the covers off of his body, he brusquely exited the large four poster bed, a dark frown marring his face, warning his nonexistent companions that he was in no mood to converse or entertain.

As though that would stop Miss Bingley, his mind helpfully supplied, not at all as weary as his body felt. Again, Fitzwilliam did not reprimand himself.

Why should he?

When his mind's eye was fixed on the unthinkable? The unfathomable.

Miss Elizabeth Bennet.

 _Miss Elizabeth._

Settling himself on the large chaise that rested before the fireplace, Fitzwilliam relaxed slightly **.** He was aware that he would be doing battle with himself, until the sun rose and set again. Doing nothing but ending the internal fight, by finding himself in the presence of Miss Elizabeth, and enjoy her wit and fine eyes without feeling the smallest measure of guilt. Until they were gone again, back to the carriage, back to Netherfield Hall, then would he allow the guilt and self-consternation to creep back in, aided very cleverly by Miss Bingley.

She was correct, he admitted to himself. Miss Elizabeth and Miss Bennet had left Netherfield, following Miss Bennet's illness, only three days before, and it was only that evening that Miss Bingley, Charles' sister, had ceased in her heavily exaggerated sighs and murmurings of how wonderful it was to have one's estate to one's self.

Fitzwilliam had metaphorically bitten his tongue, stopping himself from remarking aloud that it was not their estate, it was merely a leased estate, for the Bingleys were barely two generations removed from Trade. It was only for Charles, and, dare he admit it, Miss Elizabeth that he held his tongue.

Fitzwilliam was almost ashamed that he had even wished to rise to the Bennet family's defense, for although Miss Elizabeth and Miss Bennet were all that were polite and lady-like - the latter lady, portraying nothing but - their family as a whole was nothing short of barely respectable and connected **.**

Miss Bingley, he concluded, was not entirely in the wrong with her complaints. He would wager every pound he had that it was the matriarch of the Bennet family, Mrs. Bennet, who had sent her eldest daughter aback a horse, shortly before a thunderstorm swept the area. And Miss Bennet, a lovely lady, with a pleasing and genial countenance, struck Fitzwilliam as a daughter who did as she was told. And it was obvious that Mrs. Bennet had designs for her daughter. Mr. Bennet, he had not seen much of, leading him to conclude that Mr. Bennet was a rather indolent father and Master of Longbourn-a fact that was pronounced in the behavior and characters of the two youngest Bennets, during their short visit to Netherfield, during their sister's illness.

Fitzwilliam had to endure Miss Bingley's knowing smirks and smiles, as they both withstood the unchecked behavior of Miss Lydia and Miss Kitty Bennet, while under the _supervision_ of their mother. And there stood Charles, just as amiable as ever, _encouraging_ their hoydenish deportment. When he had allowed their input into the ball, he knew that he should not hear the end of it from Miss Bingley until the ball had passed, and they were safely in London.

It was very obvious, Fitzwilliam concluded, that Charles needed to leave Netherfield, for at least a few weeks, to gain some perspective. He was quite sure that some short time away from the Bennet ladies, in the company of some amiable ladies of well respected and comported families may sway his friend's mind, especially being that Charles' affections and declarations had been given and declared several times already, to various ladies.

The Bennet family was unsuitable. He knew it, Miss Bingley knew it, Mrs. Hurst knew it, and Charles should have known it from the moment he clapped eyes on Mr. Bennet, during their visit, when he had first taken the estate. If not, he should have known the morning after the Meryton Assembly, for Miss Bingley and Mrs. Hurst spent the entire morning tittering over the _largesse_ that swept the finest families in Meryton or lack thereof. Or their less than subtle insinuations that the Bennets were the best that the small village could do, so they would use Miss Bennet to entertain when they could not visit London.

A small pang of regret crept into his mind, but Fitzwilliam determinedly dismissed it. It was, most unfortunate, that Miss Elizabeth and Miss Bennet did not have better fortunes or connections, but that was the end of it. It would not do to dwell. There was nothing Fitzwilliam could do to aid them, no matter how much he enjoyed Miss Elizabeth's company.

 _Marriage,_ his traitorous mind supplied, not quite so helpfully. Fitzwilliam straightened in the chaise, almost ramrod straight, as he considered the implications of what was being brought to the table.

Except he could not.

If he was to advise Charles, his best friend second to his cousin, Colonel Fitzwilliam, against uniting in marriage with the eldest Miss Bennet, then he could not even contemplate a union between Miss Elizabeth Bennet and himself. Everything his father had taught him, everything he had strived to live by, would be all for naught if he made an offer for Miss Elizabeth's hand.

This time, he could not stay the pang of regret that he felt within his entire being, as he contemplated what could have been. Miss Elizabeth, her family notwithstanding, was one of the finest ladies he had ever beheld. Miss Bingley's jealousy-and he could not understand it, for she was quick to remind him of _his_ Miss Elizabeth's unsuitability-was not unfounded, as she was aware of his opinion of Miss Elizabeth Bennet.

But it was simply that, an opinion of which he could not act upon.

If only Miss Elizabeth had been born into better circumstances-better family, connections, fortune-then he would not have to endure such agonies!

He would have had no need for any other alternative, other than the happiest one, to propose marriage after a suitable amount of time spent in each other's acquaintance. If that were the circumstance, Charles' taking on the lease of the Netherfield estate would have been a brilliant diversion that Fitzwilliam would have been able to back him in, in more ways than one.

The embers were dead, no longer brightly glowing orange; the room was dark. Fitzwilliam scanned the room. The sky was brightening, allowing streaks of pink and orange to permeate his darkened den. He was alone, just as Miss Elizabeth would be, after the ball, after Charles left this wretched, country town and escaped to the distractions of Town . His dream would be just that, and there was an end to it.

After the ball, Fitzwilliam would put himself forward to Charles, to the danger that they both found themselves. Although Miss Bingley insisted and was becoming increasingly alarmed at the idea of a romantic courtship between Charles and Miss Bennet, Fitzwilliam was not convinced-yet he had to _convince_ Charles for both their sakes. If it came down to it, to save Charles and himself, he would use the most deadly weapon in his arsenal- _Georgiana._

Charles was one of his nearest and dearest of friends, but he had not shared the particulars of what had happened to Georgiana the previous year in Ramsgate. He could not. As good a friend as Charles was-he was not family.

 _Not yet,_ his mind intoned, bringing to the forefront Fitzwilliam's most earnest desire to bring Charles and his dear, sweet sister together in matrimony.

Fitzwilliam physically shook his head, futilely trying to rid himself of the reaction that followed that desire.

 _Hypocrite._

Fitzwilliam shook his head again. No matter what those in Meryton thought of him-he was proud, he was the nephew of an earl-but he was not a pharisee. Of all the things his father had taught him, he knew that he was better than that epitaph. His status as a Darcy of Pemberley confirmed that very fact. Everything within him confirmed that fact. And everything within him wished to protect his sister with all his considerable might.

Charles was the key. Ever since their first meeting, he in his last year of University, Charles in his first year-he had known that Charles was the soul of discretion, a true gentleman, despite the origins of his birth and fortune. Fitzwilliam remembered that night with the utmost clarity, a night he would never forget.

It had always rankled Fitzwilliam that his father had favored Wickham, to the extent that he did, and he could not understand why his father treated Wickham as though he were another son-paying off his numerous debts, ignoring the reports of improper affiliation with young women-genteel or not. It had been the joke of his peers-how different he and Wickham were. They had been nicknamed the "heir and spare", with Fitzwilliam being dubbed "the spare" due to his own, almost Puritan lifestyle in contrast to Wickham's favored - or so it seemed - lifestyle.

Fitzwilliam had met Charles during a rather atypical evening for Fitzwilliam. In a rare fit of pique of disapprobation, had gone after Wickham, who was away gambling with his fellow heirs and sons of gentlemen and titled lords, for squandering every opportunity and connection Fitzwilliam's father had granted him, by the act of sending him to such a school at his cost. Upon seeing the look on his face, Wickham had merely laughed, and, cruelly, the other heirs and spares had followed.

Fitzwilliam had rushed out of the room, embarrassment heating his cheeks, flushing them a dull red that did not go unnoticed from the room's occupants.- _He remembered his entire body flushing in anger and embarrassment as he heard their mocking laughter!-._ Wickham had followed him from the room, although his gaze was not fixed on Fitzwilliam, rather on the game of cards that he had left.

Mockingly, he gave a short bow to Fitzwilliam and, emboldened by the jeers and shrieks from his companions, began to address Fitzwilliam in a manner that if a total stranger had witnessed their exchange, one would think that it _was_ the heir addressing the young, wayward spare who was endangering his heritage and besmirching his family name by his conduct thus far.

Fitzwilliam remembered growing more and more angry, as he endured Wickham's mocking. He had promised himself, henceforth, right as he had rushed out of the room, that he would never again degrade himself by commenting upon Wickham's comportment, ever again, for soon he would not have to see him-this he knew, for he knew that it was only a matter of time before Wickham would leave, having had to repeat a year of his schooling to begin with, and secondly due to his increasing attention to cards and loose women, not to his duties and expectations that Fitzwilliam's father had placed upon him-when Charles Bingley came into view.

The young gentlemen, a young boy really-he had reminded Fitzwilliam of himself, as he had hardly looked wet behind the ears-had left the room, in which the Earl of _'s son opened up his private space for their gambling den, and had gently closed the door, disrupting the view from the assembled throng, who were now not paying any attention to their cards-but rather to Wickham's ungentlemanly conduct.

Wickham had been shocked, stopping his diatribe, and that was enough for Fitzwilliam to determine that Charles was not part of his usual throng of "admirers"-those who would take Fitzwilliam's father's money from the son of a steward, while smirking and making jibes towards Fitzwilliam, as though it were his own fault-for one of his admirers would never endanger their entertainment.

Before Wickham could react, before Fitzwilliam could react, Charles had strode forward in a surprising show of strength, that did not equate to the nervous look on his face, and asked Fitzwilliam, in low tones, if he would be able to help him study the next evening, for an exam that was coming up.

Fitzwilliam smiled in remembrance. Charles, as he had soon learned, was almost always amiable and knew what to say in every instance to bring flattery or nullify any embarrassment the participant may have encountered in any particular social setting. That night, however, Charles had been rather nervous, it being his first time away from home, and had become swept up in a rather unsavory, ungentlemanly group of _friends._ Thankfully, he had not become jaded to the point of ignoring, and aiding in ungentlemanly conduct, and had come to his defense.

 _His defense._ A man he had no previous knowledge of, and about whom he had most likely heard a number of unflattering stories and comments. Fitzwilliam did not know, for Charles had never spoken of any rumors or stories to Fitzwilliam-not when their friendship had just begun, nor now. And that had been the basis of their friendship, in the beginning.

Fitzwilliam knew now that he had not done himself any favors by allowing Wickham to reign free, over the Darcy name and largesse. He should have done something more to stop it. But he had believed himself above such reports and had been uncaring of what others thought of him. In some ways, that was still true. He was a Darcy of Pemberley, and he would continue to act as he had while at Pemberley, while also not shaming his father with wild behavior. Wickham had done enough of _that_ for the both of them. However, it had not endeared him to any of the others-especially regarding his taciturn nature. So while he had acquaintances, he could not say that he had any friends. Not any real friends.

Not until Charles.

Charles, who accepted him as he was, with a joke here and there, aimed to make _him_ laugh - or think, as some of Charles' commentary had been rather incriminatory lately - not for Charles to laugh at him, became his best friend.

Charles, who had no doubt been asked for his own input into what had happened after he closed the door, its instigators no doubt wishing for him to create some story to corroborate Wickham's, and had said nothing.

It was childish, Fitzwilliam knew, to hold on to such a thing after all these years, to allow it to form a basis of friendship, but he found that he did not care. Not when it had brought him a dear friend, whom he knew he could trust.

And that would be enough for Georgiana, God willing. Her youthful innocence had been destroyed by the actions of Wickham, and Fitzwilliam knew that she would never be able to recover such a thing, having faced a similar betrayal from Wickham all those years ago, when they had gone away to university together. He had believed that they were friends, almost brothers, that they should go through university life together as they had gone through life together, previously at Pemberley, but it was not to be.

He had never said such a thing to Charles, for he did not wish to pressure his friend, nor his own sister, but it was a hope that he found would grow more and more with the attentions of Miss Bennet and her family. Of Miss Elizabeth's.

Fitzwilliam's lip curled in derision, but he found the emotion could not match what he felt. Something was wrong, inside. With him.

 _Wickham._

He had only seen Wickham with the Bennet ladies the other day, and it had been weighing on his mind ever since. He had not thought that he was capable of such anger, not since he had seen Wickham with his dear sister, then he had when he had witnessed Wickham walking alongside Miss Elizabeth and the other Bennet girls.

Rationally, he knew whose fault the introduction was-most likely Miss Lydia Bennet or Miss Kitty Bennet. From what he had seen at the Meryton Assembly, and then again at Lucas Lodge, the two youngest Bennets-wholly too young to be out in society, even if they had been as well mannered and as polite as Georgiana-thought nothing of anything but balls, gowns, and soldiers. He had heard Miss Bingley derisively comment upon that very fact within his hearing-and Charles'-several times, during Miss Elizabeth and Miss Bennet's stay at Netherfield.

It was their fault, and here he was, paying the price for it. He could not sleep, nor could he stop thinking of Wickham, of Miss Elizabeth.

He knew in his heart that if he had a choice, free of any encumbering specifics to fortune, connection, or Name, that he should choose Miss Elizabeth in a heartbeat. And she should choose him, for they complimented each other in almost every way, and felt that he could-dare he say it-be at peace with her at his side.

But her sisters!

Her mother!

Her _father_!

It would not be borne.

However…..

Fitzwilliam glanced away from the window, now hearing the bustling of the servants, as they began their duties before their master and his guests were supposed to have arisen. His valet would be in his room soon, intent on readying his master for his early morning ride, as Fitzwilliam always took an early morning ride to clear his head before taking in a small fast before breakfast. Charles, Miss Bingley, Mrs. Hurst, and Mr. Hurst preferred to keep Town hours, and Fitzwilliam found that it was simply easier to accede to their own wishes, rather than selfishly insist they adjust to his own preferred hours, while a guest in their home.

A rare smile touched his lips as he remembered Charles' first visit to Pemberley, and how he had gone to Charles' room to wake him for a ride and some breakfast and had a rather dazed Charles' following him about the estate. He had given Charles advice, that he should adjust to earlier hours once he purchased his own estate, but that idea had clearly not been implemented.

No matter. There were more important things.

 _Miss Elizabeth._

Miss Elizabeth had been in the company of George Wickham. He remembered the way he had bristled and then forced himself to ride off before he would do or say something that he would regret when he had watched Miss Elizabeth engage and introduce Charles to Wickham, as though he were a respect sort of gentleman. Charles knew otherwise, but not enough. Not anything significant.

Miss Elizabeth did not know. Could not know. How could she? Wickham was everything that was polite and gentlemanly. Miss Elizabeth was his mirror, although he enjoyed the very eloquent way she politely, but firmly disagreed and challenged others, including himself.

She did not know of what Wickham was capable.

And it should be up to him to inform her of his treachery, his mind reasoned suddenly. Just as he was about to assail that train of thought-he stopped.

His heart interrupted his thoughts and whispered. _What could he truly do for her?_

He could not marry Miss Elizabeth, that he knew.

He could not court her.

He knew that before she should get her hopes up, he should leave Netherfield, and take Charles with him-before Miss Bennet and her mother began to expect a proposal from Charles.

But he could put her on her guard with Wickham. Show her that he was not all that he purported to be.

He was no gentleman, not like Fitzwilliam was.

He could offer her nothing but empty promises and cloying flirtations-Fitzwilliam would offer her opportunity with his warning.

Fitzwilliam heard his valet now, outside the door.

It was best, he decided, as he moved to the front of his basin of water and mirror, awaiting his valet for his morning shave.

He could not offer her marriage, but he could offer her and her family respectability and decorum, and that would be enough.

Splashing water upon his face, Fitzwilliam studied himself dourly in the mirror. It would be best to work out his warning in a way that did not incriminate himself or his sister, so he would wait until the morrow to seek out Miss Elizabeth in the woods, and explain his fears and hopes for her family.

And then the sinking feeling that had kept him up should disappear, and all would be well.


	2. Chapter 2

**AN: Hi, everyone, sorry for my LONG absence. I went on "vacation" i.e. I am at my cranky grandma's house with babies crawling all over me, so I have barely had time to my computer.**

 **This is a new story that I wrote, and I had it up on Amazon for about 2 weeks, and had given it to a few people for reviews...when I was informed that my story was completely awful and my grammar completely atrocious. Which was sort of surprising to me. So I am looking to edit this based on the feedback I get. I know that I have a tendency to do run on sentences, but I usually try and tamper it down, not completely do away with it. If you guys find anything distracting or completely awful, please let me know via reviews or PM me. Thanks!**

 **Also: I consider this to be "P &P on Crack". Basically everything goes FAST. This is a novella that is 27.5k long, and it is meant to be short and rushed. I tried to make the emotions and decisions of some of the characters reflect that. So please take that into account.**

 **Thanks for reading! I will be adding a few chapters of "A Respectable Man" later tonight.**

Chapter Two

 _The next morning._

Before the sunlight filtered through the gauzy blue curtains that covered the windows could streak across the face of her sleeping sister, Elizabeth had gone from their shared bed, and had, as quietly as she could, drew the darker blue, heavier curtains that surrounded their bed in a canopy, to allow her sister to sleep, undisturbed.

Performing her daily absolutions was a simple task, one she had always done as quietly as she could, in view of her sister's propensity to sleep in as late as was politely possible-she had been down at the breakfast table before Lydia and Kitty stumbled in, a score of an hour late, until Papa had put an end to it. If Lydia and Kitty wished to be late and inconvenience the entire household, then they should be the ones to bear the burden of not eating until the noon meal. It had taken only once to enforce the message, and Lydia and Kitty made sure that they dragged themselves out of bed, once they heard Jane up.

Elizabeth smiled to herself, wondering how Mr. Bingley would take such news once he and Jane were married. Many would be surprised at the fact that her dear sister was the one who wished to study the moon and stars while they both lay abed, Elizabeth sound asleep, while she, greeted the sun each morning on a lovely, brisk walk.

Pressing a kiss to her sister's forehead, she felt Jane's brief smile, and made her way out the door to their room. Elizabeth was used to making sure her instep was a soft tread, but took even more care, for she did not wish to _disturb_ Mr. Collins.

A more foolish man could not have ever come to proclaim himself their cousin, she had decided during their first dinner together. It was fitting, she thought, as she tread down the stairs, past the foyer, and made her way towards the back door of Longbourn-the trail that she walked in the neighboring woods had started as a servant's path between Longbourn and Netherfield.

Her father had never spoken much of Mr. William Collins' father, although she knew that there was bad blood between them. In the years past, whenever there had been a letter from the present Mr. Collins' father (although that had been exceedingly rare), Elizabeth had observed that it had been read immediately, quickly, and then abruptly discarded. Whenever her father had been questioned of its contents from her mother, her father usually had no reply, not even a teasing comment as he was wont to do, just like-.

Elizabeth let out a rare giggle, as she remembered her mother and father's exchange in regards to Mr. Bingley, and whether or not her father had visited Mr. Bingley, in order for the Bennet ladies to be properly introduced to Mr. Bingley at the Meryton Assembly. Of course, Elizabeth had expected the man to find Jane beautiful, any man would have to be blind, deaf, and dumb in order not to find her so, but she had never expected Jane and Mr. Bingley to admit such a preference-indeed, if not by thought-and so quickly!

And he was everything that was amiable and gentleman-like, he himself almost made up for his unpleasant company-although Elizabeth supposed he could not help his sisters, anymore than she could help Lydia, Mary, or Kitty. If all went well, as well as it looked, Elizabeth for one would be proud to call Mr. Bingley her brother, and Mrs. Bennet, her son.

A cloud crossed over her face, as she considered her stay at Netherfield for the hundredth time. Elizabeth tilted her chin up, and closed her eyes, to soak in the beauty of the cool, crisp morning. She should not try to upset herself, now that everything was set to rights-Jane had a would-be beau, Mama was pleased, and she was back in the bosom of her family-but she found that she could not help herself.

If only Mr. Collins and Mr. Darcy were not part of her immediate purview, Elizabeth thought rather heatedly, although she immediately chastised herself for such thoughts.

Mr. Darcy and Mr. Collins were both rather respectable men, although in that respect, Elizabeth knew that one would tolerate a rude, prideful being who only deigned to speak when he found an opportunity to insult and sneer on those he considered below him, who was Master of more than ten thousand a year, than a bumbling fool who would inherit a small country manor worth only a fraction of the former, although Elizabeth knew that she could not respect either man.

Especially Mr. Darcy. Elizabeth's fingers dug painfully into the palm of her hands, as she considered all that Mr. Wickham had relayed to her at her Aunt Phillips' card party the night before. It had upset her so much, to the point to where she could not sleep, and laid awake with Jane-she thinking of all that Mr. Darcy had done to poor Mr. Wickham, while she was sure that Jane had much pleasanter thoughts of Mr. Bingley.

However, both men could jeopardize her entire family's future. Mr. Collins had expressed a preference for her in the few days that he had arrived from his _most generously_ sized parsonage, _graciously_ bestowed upon him by _Her Eminence,_ the Lady Catherine de Bourgh, Widow of Sir Lewis de Bourgh, and Sister of the current Earl of Matlock, and Elizabeth was wary of his intentions. Obviously, her Mama had spoken to Mr. Collins about Jane and Mr. Bingley, for he paid her no mind, but Elizabeth worried about the expectations Mama had given Mr. Collins in regards to her hand.

Not for the first instance, since Mr. Collins' appearance into their lives in such a short period of time, Elizabeth drew a small prayer in thanks to God that Mr. Bingley had appeared and made Jane so content in her demeanor and person. Elizabeth had believed Jane to be so before Mr. Bingley, that she had been entirely happy, as Elizabeth was, but the change in Jane could only be attributed to Mr. Bingley. Elizabeth hoped it would never dim, not if Mr. Darcy-.

"A most odious man that ever lived!" Elizabeth snarled aloud, almost shocked at the vitriol in her tone. She quickly glanced around, as though she were not alone in the woods between Netherfield and Longbourn.

Her anger abated, and pity returned-no, something more than pity, but less than anger came, for all she could think of now was Mr. Wickham. Poor Mr. Wickham, whose charming smile, easy manners, and laughing eyes belied the harshness in which he had been treated by _the_ Mr. Darcy of Pemberley in Derbyshire, of ten thousand pounds a year, nephew to Lady Catherine, and _betrothed_ , she had just recalled from her earlier conversation with Mr. Wickham, to Lady Catherine's daughter.

 _Poor_ Mr. Darcy.

Poor Mr. Wickham.

How he had endured such a man, Elizabeth did not understand for she could hardly bear his company in the brief month that she had made Mr. Darcy's acquaintance, let alone an entire lifetime's worth of company-and to be thrown away so callously, against the dearest wish of a beloved father! And she had believed him merely to be above his country company! She was glad to know that it was not merely pride and arrogance she had been subjected to, but avarice as well. Lord in Heaven knew how many others Mr. Darcy had swindled, due to his blatantly ignoring his late father's wishes-devoted servants, perhaps!

It ached Elizabeth's heart to know that she had to rest all of her hopes and prayers that Mr. Darcy was as good a friend as Mr. Bingley clearly proved to be. She knew that Miss Caroline Bingley was not in favor of Jane and Mr. Bingley's union, indeed was not in favor of living anywhere other than Pemberley itself, as well as the Darcy Townhouse in London, and the same went for her brother! Elizabeth was not as stupid as Miss Bingley seemed to believe she was, what with her broad and almost pointed hints, her loud, almost obnoxious praise of the conceited Miss Darcy, in the hopes that Mr. Darcy should wish for a marriage between the amiable Mr. Bingley and his beloved sister.

It was entirely self-evident, even for a _simple, country bumpkin_ , Elizabeth thought, sardonically, as she rounded the curve of the road.

"Mr. Darcy," she almost whispered in shock, for there stood the gentleman there, about to cross the road which she traveled, to her side. Abruptly, Elizabeth stopped, wondering if he would acknowledge her with a proper greeting, as befitted a gentleman, or if he should behave as he did when she and her sisters were accompanied by Mr. Wickham, in a decidedly most ungentlemanly like fashion.

As soon as he saw her, the tall, foreboding man strode quickly to her side, as though she had been the one he had been looking for this entire time.

 _Had he been looking for her?_ Elizabeth could not say that it was an entirely idea, for in the month that Mr. Darcy had joined his friend at Netherfield Hall, she had not come across him in the woods, not this early in the morning.

"Miss Elizabeth," he stated dryly, as he always did. He then bowed to her, his air fraught with uncertainty and sternness. For all that he appeared to be somewhat on edge, he was always stiff, and unyielding.

"Mr. Darcy." she managed to gasp out, almost breathlessly, and gave a simple curtsey, as though they were in a fine ballroom, back at Netherfield. She readied her heel, about to continue her walk, when Mr. Darcy said her name again-

"Miss Elizabeth." This time, her name was spoken with great urgency.

"Mr. Darcy?" She asked, allowing the question to overtake her repetition of his name. "How may I help you? If you should desire to return to Netherfield," she noted with a twist of her mouth, "this path takes you to the edge of Longbourn, and once you have reached that destination, the only thing needed would be to simply turn back and take the path that brought you there."

Mr. Darcy gave another bow. Elizabeth frowned briefly at his formality. Did he feel as though he should be doubly polite while walking alone in the woods, in case Prince Regent himself should join them?

Her contempt grew.

"Miss Elizabeth," he started, his voice soft, "I had intentionally sought you out in this wooded area, for I remembered your mother stating that you enjoyed early morning walks, as well as your devotion to your sister when she arrived at Netherfield ill. You arrived before Miss Bingley and I had even broken our fast."

Elizabeth almost recoiled at the memory Mr. Darcy incited, for she was all too well aware that in between her mother's crowing that Jane should marry Mr. Bingley and save her sisters from starving in the hedgerows with her beauty and serenity, she often complained that Elizabeth was not quite as eye-catching as her sister, and had none of her serenity, for she often ambled around the countryside, without so much as a by your leave to Mrs. Bennet or anyone else.

"I did, Mr. Darcy." she intoned sternly, almost daring him to get to his point.

A silence passed between them.

"As you well know, Miss Elizabeth," Mr. Darcy started, his tone more confident, "I do not possess the easy talent, that others do, to converse with strangers easily."

Elizabeth glanced away in confusion, "Yet we are not strangers, Mr. Darcy." She could say nothing else.

"No, indeed we are not Miss Elizabeth," Mr. Darcy almost laughed at her response, his tone was almost light, especially by an earlier comparison, "and that is why I feel I must warn you." The light-heartedness, the hilarity was gone in his final statement.

Elizabeth did not know whether or not she should feel alarmed at his manner or words.

"Warn me?" she queried suspiciously. "Warn me against what, Mr. Darcy?"

Mr. Bingley? Was he here to warn her against her family, especially her mother and Jane in Mr. Bingley's continuing attentions? If he thought he should frighten her, then he was wrong. Utterly, and entirely wrong. She was Elizabeth Bennet, daughter of Mr. Thomas Bennet, of Longbourn in Hertfordshire, and she would not be intimidated.

She was not afraid. No matter how foreboding Mr. Darcy appeared.

"I have come to warn you against Mr. Wickham, Miss Elizabeth."

Elizabeth barely stopped the look of derision that crossed her face, and would have altered her tone, had she spoke aloud.

 _For Jane._

For Jane, she intoned to herself, over and over and over again, as she righted herself for a response.

"Indeed, Mr. Darcy," she finally mustered up an acceptable neutral level in her voice. "For what do you intent to warn me off, Mr. Darcy? The fact that Mr. Wickham is the son of your father's old steward, or the fact that he was your childhood friend?"

Her voice was light and unaffected, her gaze calm and steady. In her heart, she pleaded for the _gentleman_ to drop the subject, drop his pompous warnings, and carry on with his walk.

Mr. Darcy stiffened.

"I see Mr. Wickham has already spoken to you." His tone was accusatory.

Elizabeth lifted her chin.

"Indeed, Mr. Darcy."

Mr. Darcy took a step forward, his body language suddenly placating, submissive. "I assure you, Miss Elizabeth, Mr. Wickham is not any gentleman that I would ever subject to my-."

"Would not even subject to your own sister, the _talented_ Miss Darcy?" Elizabeth finished for him, her tone mocking. Mr. Darcy face froze. She could not stop herself. "It is interesting, Mr. Darcy, that Mr. Wickham dared not say a bad word against you. Flatly refused to tell the world, nay, even Meryton, what sort of a man you truly are-beyond your estate in Derbyshire or your ten thousand a year! A sort of man that should mock his own dying father's wishes to bestow his brother by heart with a parsonage-."

Mr. Darcy's anger grew, she could see that while she spoke, but would not stop to chastise herself now, no she should do that once she was safely tucked away inside her own room, beside her dear Jane.

When Mr. Darcy finally spoke, there was no disguising his anger and acrimony towards her, towards Mr. Wickham.

"I see Mr. Wickham has not relayed all of the particulars of his upbringing, nor the circumstances in which he had not been given the living, as was decreed by my father."

"Enlighten me then, Mr. Darcy."

He took her challenge for what it was, with a square of his shoulders, and bolstered, "Mr. Wickham and I grew up together as boys, with my father treating him as a second son. Indeed, he was Mr. Wickham's godfather. We received the same education, straight through to university, where Mr. Wickham failed to finish his studies-" at Elizabeth's skeptical look, Mr. Darcy hastened to add, "This very fact, as well as several others can be verified by Mr. Bingley himself, Miss Elizabeth."

He continued, aware that Elizabeth was now hanging on his every word, due to his proclamation that the amiable, gentle Mr. Bingley should be able to verify, upon his honor as a gentleman, the next words that should come straight from his mouth.

"Mr. Wickham failed to finish his studies, and quickly sank into a life of dissolution. When my father died, he asked for the value of the living in Kympton Park, which was a sum of three thousand pounds, which he was given, and promptly gambled away. I had not seen him until-" Here Mr. Darcy abruptly stopped.

So did Elizabeth's mind. All she could hear was her heart pounding, over and over again, her psyche unwilling to comprehend what she knew to be rational, what she knew to be irrational. And in her heart, her soul, she knew that Mr. Wickham's story was irrational. For what sort of a gentleman should tell a lady of whom he is barely acquainted of such personal dealings.

She knew that. But she still believed.

She, who had prided herself on having a discerning eye on such matters, about such men!

She who had warned her sweet sister away from a few such men, when they had both been much younger and less aware of their charms-Jane's especially.

A sigh escaped her. She had allowed her prejudice towards Mr. Darcy to allow anything to be said against him, without her even realizing it.

Mr. Darcy seemed to interpret her sigh as a sign to continue, and so he did, with a loose swallow, "I had not seen Mr. Wickham until he attempted an elopement with my fifteen-year-old sister, late last year." Mr. Darcy did not pause at Elizabeth's shocked gasp. "She is to inherit thirty thousand pounds, Miss Elizabeth. I had sent her away for a holiday with a ladies companion that, unbeknownst to myself and my cousin, Georgiana's other guardian, had ties to Mr. Wickham, and thus colluded together in an attempt to gain her fortune. Thankfully," Mr. Darcy stressed the word, _thankfully,_ "I had arrived at the home at which my sister was staying earlier than planned, and was able to put a stop towards such a devious plan."

Mr. Darcy paused again. "Miss Elizabeth," his tone was not forgiving, "my sister was devastated, utterly devastated, and as the result of such an action, for Mr. Wickham left the moment he realized that I should rather make my sister a widow and hang in Newgate than for her to become Mrs. George Wickham, caused her to fall in a deep melancholy in which I have not yet been able to lift her from completely."

A long silence stretched out between them, as Elizabeth had considered every single word, every single moment that had passed between her and Mr. Darcy.

There was no excuse.

There was absolutely no excuse for her earlier outburst. Although Mr. Darcy had behaved previously in a most ungentlemanly-like manner, his behavior should have had no bearing on her own, for she was a well brought up Bennet-one of two. She wore her family pride as a mantle, and today she had besmirched it.

She spoke, her voice halting, "Forgive me, Mr. Darcy. I had no idea-I should never have-."

Mr. Darcy smiled-and Elizabeth was stunned to note that it was the first smile she had seen on him, the first pleasant expression she had seen from him beyond a foreboding, intimidating, haughty demeanor. His smile was shy and uncertain, as though he did not know if she liked it.

"It is forgiven, Miss Elizabeth. You are not the first to believe Mr. Wickham's lies, nor will you be the last. Come now; it is behind us, where it ought to be."

"I still must apolo-" Elizabeth tried once again, but she found herself being silenced by Mr. Darcy speaking once more.

His gaze was not fixed to her, rather directed off towards the side. His hands moved from his pocket, to his sides, to being entwined together; the cycle repeated while he spoke, almost hesitantly.

"I am glad, Miss Elizabeth, that you of all people should know. Not simply for the townspeople in Meryton, but for Georgiana's and Mr. Bingley's sake."

At once, a different sort of an alarming feeling sunk into her belly.

"What is your meaning, Mr. Darcy?" Elizabeth asked, hoping against all hope that her tone was not as frantic as she felt.

"I only meant that Mr. Bingley is one of the few gentlemen that can draw my sister out of her own shell, and it is-."

No.

Elizabeth could not bear to hear more.

She dared not chastise, nor attempt to cease her actions, for she knew that if she did not leave, she would disgrace herself even further.

Bobbing a low curtsey, Elizabeth murmured a vaguely politely goodbye, and turned on her heel, when she was stopped by Mr. Darcy's hand. He had reached out and caught her arm as she turned. She glanced down at his hand on her arm, shocked, conscious of the heat she felt.

Their gazes met.

Mr. Darcy snatched his hand away from her as though he had been burned, and quickly apologized. Elizabeth accepted his apology with a nod of her head, and attempted to diffuse the situation, quickly gaining her bearings "It seems we have both insulted one another, Mr. Darcy, so I believe we should leave while neither of us owe the other-"

"No, we should not, Miss Elizabeth. Not until we understand each other." Mr. Darcy was firm, and brooked no disobedience.

"No, we should not, Mr. Darcy, for we have nothing to say to each other. You love your sister and wished for her to be matched with a good man, as do I. We both have the same man in sights, in that we are evenly matched."

Mr. Darcy seemed insulted. He drew himself up.

"I should hope that my sister would be in love with her future spouse, Miss Elizabeth, as you wish for your own sisters."

"Do you imply that my sister does not love Mr. Bingley, Mr. Darcy?"

The incredulity permeating every word that left Elizabeth's lips seemed to deflate Mr. Darcy somewhat. His gaze wandered again.

"I had not sensed any particular regard-"

"You sensed only what was proper, Mr. Darcy," was Elizabeth's biting reply.

"Of course," Mr. Darcy replied, chastened, "I had no intention of implying that Miss Bennet should act in the same manner as your-" Here, he had the decency to stop himself, although it was too little, too late.

"As my younger sisters, Mr. Darcy? Is that why Jane is not good enough for Miss Bingley and Mrs. Hurst? For you?" Elizabeth's embarrassment and shame gave way to a simmering displeasure, to things she had wished to say, yet had been forced to hold her tongue. "My sister is a lady who knows better than to raise questions of propriety in her demeanor and interaction with a gentleman in whom she is interested in, and knows is interested in her. Whether or not they shall be courting, betrothed, or marriage is Mr. Bingley's decision, and his alone." Here her tongue turned to acid, "If Miss Bingley and Mrs. Hurst are worried about the approbation they shall receive in Society due to their sisters-in-law, perhaps they should consider their own brother's feelings. It cannot be easy to be constantly apologizing for such ill-disguised insults and looks of derision, especially when one has just moved into a neighborhood where one intends to buy an estate and raise the family name. That is not even taking into account the behavior of those who would be called gentlemen, let alone friends."

Elizabeth caught and kept Mr. Darcy's eye, wondering if he felt as sick as she felt, even as she spoke.

"Good day, Mr. Darcy," she finally said firmly.

"Good day, Miss Elizabeth."

Mr. Darcy's response was quieter, and muted, and Elizabeth could not ponder what that meant, as she hurriedly walked back to Longbourn.


	3. Author Note

Just an author note to get you guys up to speed...

I will be keeping my first story, "A Respectable Man" up on , period...but for my upcoming stories, after completion, I will be leaving them up for two weeks, and then taking down everything but the first two chapters.

Thanks for reading!


End file.
